Turrif and his wife listened to all that was said, and looked at each other, and looked at him, and asked him a good many questions.  They were neither of them hasty, but, as the woman’s manner was the more vivacious, so her questions, when translated, showed a somewhat quicker wit.  When all was said, like wise people, they pronounced no sentence, either upon Trenholme’s actions or upon those of the creature that had inhabited the coffin; but they remarked that if the carter had committed no evil he would not have run away.  They said that they had some knowledge of this man, whom they called “Monsieur Saul,” and that he was a fellow of little worth.  They agreed that Turrif should go with Trenholme, as requested, to bring the man to book.

On crossing the threshold of the house Trenholme had come at once into a large, long room, which composed the whole lower flat of the dwelling, as appeared from the windows on both sides and from the fact that the staircase went up from one end of it.  It was a comfortable, well-warmed room, containing evidences of all the various industries of the family, from the harness that hung on the wall and the basket of carded wool by the spinning-wheel, to the bucket of cow’s mash that stood warming by the stove at the foot of the baby’s cradle.  At the far end a large table, that held the candle, had a meal spread upon it, and also some open dog’s-eared primers, at which small children were spelling audibly.

When the conference, which had taken place near the door, was over, the wife went back to her children and her lighted table, and Trenholme made as if to open the door, supposing that Turrif would walk away with him.

“Eh—­non," said the older man, with a kindly smile. "Pas encore," and taking Trenholme by the arm, he pushed him gently towards the table.  “I weel get out my ’orse,” said he, in slow, broken English.  “You have had enough walking to-day, and I have had enough work. A present"—­with a gesture toward the table.

He made Trenholme sit down at the table.  There was a very large pan of thick sour milk on it, and a loaf of grey bread.  Bits of this bread were set round the edge of the table, near the children, who munched at them.

Turrif gave Trenholme a bit of bread, cutting into the loaf as men only do in whose lives bread is not scarce.  With a large spoon he took a quantity of the thick rich cream from the top of the milk and put a saucer of it before the visitor.  Trenholme ate it with his bread, and found it not as sour as he expected, and on the whole very good.  Turrif, eating bread as he went, carried the harness out of the house.